


"Thank You For My Angel"

by nerdylittledude



Series: Ugly Sweater !Verse [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:19:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has a whole lot to be thankful for this year. He's not exactly grateful for his ineptitude with feelings, though, but he's starting to see that good things and feelings are kind of a package deal.</p><p>... And maybe he doesn't mind that as much as he used to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Thank You For My Angel"

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I have never been so late with a USV update, like... ever. I'm ashamed. I can't even blame it on finals because I didn't have any this semester.
> 
> If it feels rushed at any part, that's because towards the end of writing this installment, I started to get a little desperate to finish because it was so late. So if it reads rushed, it's because it actually is rushed. I didn't wait for my beta before posting because I figured at this point it just needs to be posted as is. If you guys notice errors (spelling, grammar, inconsistency, notes to myself I forgot to take out, etc), please POLITELY point them out in comments! <3 It's possible I'll repost a beta'd version later but I'm kinda mentally done with this and have been for two weeks. 
> 
> Somehow it's 11k and only has one sex scene. Sorry guys. I have no idea what happened with this one.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! If you have any feedback, PLEASE don't be shy! I'm feeling very insecure about the quality of this update so affirmation/constructive critique would be awesome. 
> 
> [Also, in case some of you didn't know, I'm also nerdylittledude on tumblr!]

 “You said nothing would change, Sammy. You _promised_ nothing would change.”

The atmosphere in the tiny kitchen feels tense and charged like a live wire, waiting to crackle into sparks that sting. Dean’s jaw is set and he’s leaning against the counter, one fist curled around the edge. His other hand holds his cell phone tersely to his ear. Outside, Cas is bundled up in two layers of sweaters and his stupid hat from last year, watching the faint snow fall and melt the moment it hits the ground. He’s waiting on Dean to bring out hot chocolate and watch the snow fall with him.

Sam is silent on the other end of the line, so quiet that Dean checks the screen to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. It hasn’t.

“Sam,” Dean barks, and he hears Sam sigh.

“I said nothing would change between _us,_ Dean,” Sam says evenly, “and that’s true. You’re my brother and there’s no one more important than you – but it’s kind of unrealistic to think that _nothing_ would change.”

Dean snorts.

“Whatever. Spend Thanksgiving with strangers – hell, spend Christmas with them, too. Spend every goddamn holiday with those people, get in real good with those rich sons of bitches. Me and Cas? We’ll be fine without you.”

“Dean – _Dean._ ‘Those people’? Those are my in-laws. My wife’s _family_. So watch how you talk about them.”

Dean can’t help but laugh, bitter and hollow, shaking his head slightly although Sam can’t see it.

“Unbelievable.”

Sam’s ensuing broody silence is clearly indicative of an attempt to send him a bitchface through the phone. 

“You’re in no place to say anything about them,” Sam adds after a moment of them both quietly seething. “After that stunt you pulled at my wedding –”

“You’re seriously going to bring that up?”

“Yeah, Dean, I am. I wasn’t gonna. But I am now. What the hell, man? I can’t believe they even still ask how you’re doing! And poor Cas, how could you –”

“Cas is fine,” Dean all but hisses, clamping his teeth down on the word. “We’re fine.” They have all successfully danced around this issue for weeks now, and Dean is perfectly happy with it staying that way.

“You didn’t even apologize, did you?” Sam asks, sounding cocky and sure of his brother’s ineptitude, and Dean wishes his brother was here in the flesh so he could punch him in the face. He wants to say ‘ _yeah actually, I did, asshole’_ – but that would mean admitting he was wrong, and it was hard enough doing that once. Besides, _he’s_ the one that’s being slighted here. Somehow Sam has managed to make this about him, and he quickly points this out.

“Whatever, Mr. High and Mighty. Let me know how that high-class turkey goes with the caviar, will you?”

“I would, if I thought you could hear me with your head in your ass,” Sam snaps back, and Dean cuts the line because he knows from experience that shouting at the phone isn’t going to help. He glares at the phone in his palm for a moment before finally glancing up. He starts at the sight of Cas, who has soundlessly entered the room who knows how long ago.

“Hot chocolate doesn’t take that long,” Cas says, as though he realizes his unexpected presence requires explanation. “And I got cold waiting.” He certainly _looks_ cold; his nose and cheeks are rosy and his lips are chapped, which is a pretty permanent state by this time of year. Dean wishes he’d been outside cuddling next to Cas with some hot chocolate, keeping each other warm, rather than having this stupid conversation with Sam.

“How much did you hear?” Dean asks, shutting off his phone in case Sam calls back. It may not be the high road as far as maturity goes, but Dean never was the more mature brother.

“Only that Sam and Sarah will not be joining us for Thanksgiving,” Cas says, and the hilarity of the situation finally strikes Dean. A year ago, they never even _celebrated_ holidays, and now they’re fighting over them. He doesn’t laugh, though, because it’s not that kind of funny and he still feels sick with bitterness. He must look as tense as he feels, must be projecting the tautness in his shoulders, because Cas’ expression is gentle and once he’s crossed the small room, he wraps his arms tight around Dean’s waist.

“I’ll speak with Sarah,” Cas says, which surprises Dean. He had expected Cas to gently try to convince him that he’s wrong or something, like he always does. Dean hates to admit it, but Cas really knows how to handle him. It occurs to him, though, that Sam is treading on holiday turf here, which is Cas’ domain – it makes sense that Cas might not take well to the idea of letting go of such a family-oriented holiday. Den inwardly fistpumps because, seriously? Cas is _never_ on his side against Sam. It’s practically a miracle.

“Good luck,” Dean says, trying to play it off like the outcome doesn’t matter to him.

“Later, though. Right now the milk you were heating for our hot chocolate is boiling and I think there’s a channel airing Avengers, which I’d like to watch.”

Dean’s face lights up, Sam’s betrayal momentarily forgotten.

“Nice! Scarlet Johansson’s in that with guns in a skin tight suit.”

Cas frowns.

“I’m going to ignore that,” he grumbles, and Dean can’t help but kiss the stupid attempt to hide a pout right off his face.

*

The air is filled with the potent aroma of laundry detergent and fabric softener, accented by the steady whirr of laundry machines. Dean sits atop one of them in their local laundromat, thighs heated by the warm metal and body shaking slightly as the washer goes into the spin cycle. He’s facing the big window at the shop front, where Cas is outside with his phone to his ear, snug in a hideous blue Thanksgiving sweater that features an orange cornucopia spilling vegetables. His cheeks are tinted pink because it’s cold out, and his brow is wrinkled in concentration over however his current conversation is going.

Another patron of the laundromat clears her throat loudly, and points at the _‘Please Do Not Sit On Machines’_ sign located directly behind Dean. Dean doesn’t pin her as an employee – he can see her laundry from where he is – so he ignores her with a smile. She looks like she’s debating on saying something specifically, but then Cas walks in and Dean hops off the dryer, meeting Cas halfway with outstretched arms. He draws him close and kisses the angel’s nose because he’s clearly cold, and Dean just catches the sound of the woman huffing in annoyance. She’s gone by the time they let go, and Dean counts it as a victory.

“What’s the verdict?” Dean asks, sizing Cas up and trying to get a feel for the news he’s about to receive. Cas was just on the phone with Sarah, trying to coerce them over for Thanksgiving. Dean had been expected success from Cas, considering how he and Sarah are so close, but Cas’ expression has him second-guessing himself. The other man’s brow is still knit and his shoulders look slightly slumped, as though he’s recently accepted defeat.

“Sarah and Sam will not be joining us next Thursday,” Cas tells him, tone impassive. Dean hears himself suck in a breath and feels the way his jaw sets and his back stiffens. He’s instantly pissed, both at his brother and sister-in-law and in _himself_ for daring to hope that they might change their mind, for _caring_ if they do in the first place.

“Figures,” he spits out, turning as one of the washers signals its completion. “I bet they’re ducking out of Christmas, too.

“Dean,” Cas says, but Dean’s lost in his head already. He aggressively yanks the washer door open, staring at the dark and damp mess of sweaters and t-shirts.

“Hell, why not?” Dean goes on, yanking a water-heavy sweater from the machine. “They’re married now, clearly one family’s more important.”

“Dean,” Cas attempts again, and is ignored.

“Whatever, we don’t need them. We’ll have a damn good Thanksgiving – _and_ Christmas – all by ourselves. Sam can go –”

“ _Dean!_ ” Cas snaps, touching Dean’s shoulder, and finally catches Dean’s attention. Cas sighs and shakes his head a little fondly, gently moving forward and slipping his arms around Dean’s waist to calm him. “Sarah and Sam will be coming this Thursday – tomorrow – in lieu of coming on Thanksgiving. And they _will_ be with us for Christmas. All of us are going to spend the holiday at Bobby’s.”

Dean stares at Cas long and hard for a moment, at a loss for words.

Finally he asks, “Wait – but why’d you look so sad when you got off the phone?”

Cas looks away, eyes focusing off somewhere behind Dean’s head.

“Sarah insisted that she make the turkey.”

 Dean can’t help himself – he laughs, features clouded with incredulity as he takes this in. The laugh tapers off into a fond smile, and he ruffles a hand through Cas’ hair.

“So you were pouting because you have one less thing to bake,” Dean says, eyebrows raised. Cas wrinkles his nose.

“‘Pouting’ is not the term I would use…” he says sheepishly, and Dean can’t help but tug him close for a kiss.

“It was definitely pouting,” Dean says cheerfully, because he’s _happy_ ; he still gets Thanksgiving with his brother, has been promised Christmas with his whole family, and his boyfriend is pink-faced and sweater-clad, huffing in that way of his – everything is as it should be. On top of all this, they’re getting a glare from the uppity woman across the room, whom Dean has just pinned as their stuffy Republican neighbor. The realization of this makes Dean grin devilishly, and he takes Cas off guard by kissing him again, parting the other man’s lips with his tongue in a brazen show with full intent of irritating or otherwise discomforting their evil neighbor.

“Dean,” Cas says firmly when their lips part, mouths hovering close together. “We’re in public.”

“Then maybe we should go _home_ and continue,” Dean says, voice low, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Cas tracks the movement with his eyes, swallowing hard, but after a moment of staring at Dean’s lips, he shakes his head.

“When we’re done with the laundry, we need to go grocery shopping immediately. I have been caught completely unawares; Thanksgiving has reached us much sooner than anticipated.”

Dean groans.

“You’re killing me here,” he grumbles, which Cas rolls his eyes at.

“You won’t be saying that once you smell my apple pie,” he says dismissively, which makes Dean’s face light up considerably.

“Fair enough,” he says, “but after that, I’d really like you to fuck me.”

Cas visibly _shivers_ at that, and Dean feels a surge of pride at having brought that about.

“I’d like that,” Cas all but croaks.

Dean just smiles and kisses him again.

*

The kitchen is full of the smell of desserts, pie and cake and a strange type of pudding Dean’s never seen before, which Cas has informed him he intends to _set on fire_ tomorrow. He claims it’s some kind of British tradition, though one typically employed for Christmas, considering the English don’t celebrate Thanksgiving. Dean’s a little wary of setting fire to food – and a dessert, no less – but by now he’s learned to put total trust in Cas’ cooking abilities.

Cas takes care of everything that can easily be reheated the following day without sacrificing its flavor, opting to prepare the mashed potatoes and veggies tomorrow. Dean sits on the counter as Cas bustles around the kitchen preparing things. Cas looks equal parts dumb and adorable in his “Kiss the Cook” apron that features a rather unappealing looking cartoon turkey. It was a gift from Dean that Dean thinks he should regret buying… but doesn’t.

“Hurry up,” Dean whines petulantly, because he’d really like Cas to make good on that earlier promise as soon as possible.

“Baking is an art, Dean,” Cas says with a frown, “and it can’t be rushed.”

“Sex is also an art,” Dean points out. “And it should be rushed _towards_.”

Cas sighs, rolls his eyes in a way that never fails to be awkward because there’s something about it that’s so _angel,_ that is very obviously an attempt at encompassing a human gesture.

“I’m almost done, Dean,” Cas replies curtly. “If you can’t wait patiently, I’ll have to ask you to leave the kitchen.

Dean scoffs at this and looks around the kitchen for a form of retribution. He’s sitting next to the bowl of leftover apple pie filling, and dips his hands in it and throws a blob at Cas, smirking ear to ear as it pegs him on the shoulder. Cas’ eyes go wide and then they narrow, and Dean notices them dart quickly around the kitchen for something to counteract with. His hands are on the flour bag at the same time Dean scoops up more filling, and it’s not long before an all-out food fight occurs, ingredients soaring through the air, dirtying them both thoroughly in the process. The unbaked pies lay forgotten on the counter.

The sound of the oven beeping loudly to announce that it is done preheating cuts into their messy war, and Cas shoots Dean a warning look as he reaches for the pies. Dean, not one to mess around when it comes to baked goods, obediently lays off. He waits no later than the moment the oven is closed, though, to pounce on Cas, slipping his arms around Cas’ waist from behind and bringing his lips to Cas’ ear. Cas whimpers just slightly, and Dean can _feel_ the shiver that runs through the other man’s body.

“We’re dirty,” Cas comments quietly, and Dean splays a hand along his lower stomach, chuckling darkly. Cas lays his head backward against Dean’s shoulder.

“We should get cleaned up,” Dean whispers into Cas’ ear, before mouthing at his neck. Cas takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I’d like that.”

And before Dean knows what’s happening, Cas has turned around and is on him, all warm chapped lips and eager hands, supple body gliding against Dean’s. Dean gasps and then laughs at the suddenness of it, pleased at Cas’ spontaneity and eager for more. He finds himself crowded up against the nearest kitchen wall within seconds, Cas slotting himself in where he fits, where he was probably _built_ to fit, with one leg between Dean’s and the other hitched up slightly to draw him closer.

Cas tastes like apple pie filling, and with it smeared in his hair and sticking to his clothes, he smells like it, too. The slick, wet weight of Cas’ tongue in Dean’s mouth is that much more appealing when the taste is igniting Dean’s senses with now _two_ things Dean associates with happiness. Cas and pie. Dean’s pretty much hit the lottery.

Dean’s arms are wrapped tight around Cas’ waist and their bodies are flush against each other, hips working steadily like they’re fucking with their clothes on. They’re shedding layers soon enough, though, and Dean’s not even sure whose shirt hits the ground first, only that the feel of Cas’ firm nipples against his chest is giving him one hell of a hard on.

Before Dean’s hands can find the fly of Cas’ jeans, Cas is sliding down his body slowly, licking stripes all the way as he sinks to his knees. Dean’s head slams hard against the wall because he _knows_ what’s coming and suddenly his skin is alive and screaming for it.

“Fuck, Cas,” he gasps, chest heaving and eyes squeezed shut. He hears the zip of his pants, loud in the quiet of the kitchen, and makes a small noise that is definitely _not_ a squeak. Cas responds with what sounds suspiciously like a _snicker_.

“Actually,” he says as he unceremoniously tugs Dean’s pants and boxers down to his thighs, exposing Dean’s erection and earning a choked moan from Dean. “I would like you to fuck my mouth, please.”

The way Cas looks up at him with dark, expectant eyes that are so damn _hopeful_ , like he’s asking for a Christmas present or something, is one of the hottest things Dean’s ever seen. One hand grips loosely at Cas’ hair, alternately grabbing fistfuls of it and loosening his grip, smoothing down what he’s tousled.

“Are you sure?” Dean asks – because no matter how many times they do this, no matter how many times Cas sinks to his knees and begs for Dean to thrust into his mouth, Dean can’t help but make _sure_. While it’s definitely on Dean’s Top Ten Greatest Sexual Experiences, he can’t help but think that if he’d hate to have it done to him _self_. He can clearly picture choking in the process, and knows for a fact he could never enjoy giving a blowjob where there was a possibility he could start gagging halfway through.

Cas, however, has no such issue. Dean will never not be impressed at Cas’ inexplicable, seemingly heaven-sent lack of a gag reflex. He could deep-throat way back when he was just learning the mechanics of blowjobs, and Dean’s never _seen_ someone get off on having a cock rammed into their throat quite like Cas. His wanton noises and blissed out expressions are half the ride that makes blowjobs from Cas ten times better than any others Dean has ever had in his life. Cas is always arguably more into it that Dean himself – which, wow. That’s saying something.

Cas gives him the same annoyed, impatient glare he always does when Dean asks this, and responds by backing himself into the wall and forcibly guiding Dean around so that Cas is essentially pinned between Dean and the wall, kneeling between Dean’s legs. His eyes aren’t even on Dean anymore; instead he’s staring at the throbbing flesh between Dean’s legs like it’s killing him not to have a taste. When Cas finally looks up at Dean, his tongue darts out and wets his lips in a way that is just fucking _obscene_ and Dean knows when to accept consent when he sees it.

“Please, Dean, can I…?” Cas whispers, voice scratchy, and Dean shuts his eyes, tilts his head back a moment to steady himself before nodding and forcing his eyes open so that he can look at Cas. Cas _smiles_ , then, dark and dirty, and Dean has to force himself not to come on the spot.

Cas doesn’t break eye contact as he slips his mouth around Dean’s dick, gripping the base and pulling him in as deep as possible. Dean throws his head back, hitting it harder than intended against the wall, panting heavily. He’s quickly lost in the white hot suction of Cas’ porn star mouth, forgets to think about the words coming out of his own mouth as he babbles encouragement and praise.

He nearly whimpers when Cas’ mouth leaves his dick.

“Dean,” Cas hisses irritably, “move your hips. Push into me. Do what I’ve asked and fuck my mouth.”

Dean takes a heaving breath to steady himself and try to regain rational thought. He forces open his eyes again and finds Cas looking as desperate and needy as he probably looks himself and, yeah, okay, Dean needs to stop tripping himself out about this because Cas _seriously_ gets off on it.

He hooks a leg over Cas’ shoulder so he has better leverage to give Cas exactly what he wants, and Cas’ eyes go big and wide with an obscene kind of eagerness that has Dean’s blood running hot. Cas opens his mouth wide and Dean pushes in, pumping his hips and essentially thrusting into the other man’s mouth. He can _feel_ Cas moaning around his dick more than he can hear it, and Cas’ hands press against his ass, pulling him in every time. It’s burning and it’s electric and Dean’s sweating and cursing, blissed out and incoherent. Cas’ free hand slides up and down Dean’s thigh and back up to his ass, adding yet another sensation to the overwhelming sensory overload that’s taking over his brain and his body.

He comes gasping down Cas’ throat, waves of pleasure coursing through his system and making his whole body shake. It feels like it’s been punched out of him, like Cas has wrung him dry and left him tingling all over, every nerve in his body singing. And Cas – Cas just swallows it down like it’s the best taste in the world, nails digging into the back of Dean’s thigh.

Cas is up Dean’s body in a flash, kissing him with Dean’s own salty taste on his lips. He grinds hard against Dean, the denim of his jeans creating friction against Dean’s over-sensitized cock that probably isn’t very gratifying for either of them. Dean halts Cas in his somewhat frenzied ravaging of Dean’s mouth by bringing his mouth to Cas’ ear.

“I think we should go get you cleaned up,” Dean whispers, voice raw, and Cas’ full body shudder is clearly felt by both.

The trip from the kitchen to the bathroom is blessedly short, because the way Cas’ eyes have become dark as coal with only thin rims of blue circling the lust-blown pupils make it clear that Cas is riding the edge and wants to get off desperately. Dean bends over to turn on the shower and Cas is at his back as he sets the temperature to something steamy and almost too hot. Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and sucks at the back of his neck, tented jeans pressed against his ass.

Dean takes the pleasure of finally fully disrobing Cas, tugging down his pants and sliding his hands down Cas’ legs in the process. Cas wobbles on his feet, first with apparent overwhelming sensation and then as he tries to kick off his jeans from around his ankles. Dean pulls them both into the shower and backs himself against the shower wall in a clear invitation for Cas to do whatever he wants. Cas, as per usual, is not one to pass up such an open offer.

Cas spares no time in crowding up in Dean’s personal space, latching his mouth to Dean’s neck and sucking what will probably be a bright and blooming hickey to the skin there. Water sprays down from the showerhead over both of them, making their skin wet and slippery. Dean’s hands scramble for purchase of Cas’ back, nails sliding across flesh as he tries to hold on. Cas’ tongue works his neck like it’s something malleable, making Dean whimper and gasp. Cas lines their bodies up and grids against Dean, who’d give pretty much anything for a faster recovery time right about now. He feels sensitive and overstimulated, but _fuck_ if it doesn’t feel amazing.

Cas hikes Dean’s leg up around his waist, holding it in place with one hand while he quickly slips fingers from the other hand inside Dean, stretching him out. The showerhead is pointed directly at them, angled here already because it’s since been proven to be tried and true. The pouring water cascading down Dean’s body is ample lube for Cas’ nimble fingers to prep Dean, and he’s got Dean arching and cursing in moments. Cas toys with Dean’s prostate once he’s found it to the point where Dean can feel his dick trying to twitch with interest – which, wow, that’s one holy hell of an accomplishment.

“I’m ready,” Dean says hoarsely, once the teasing’s gotten to the point of driving him a little crazy. Even with multiple fingers, the pressure just can’t compare to how properly _full_ he feels when Cas is inside him. Cas can clearly sense Dean’s desperation, because the dark chuckle he lets out at Dean’s words is nothing short of sadistic. Dean thrusts upwards a little in retaliation, earning a satisfyingly wanton moan from Cas. Cas stops fooling around then and seems to get the picture, because he readjusts his hold on Dean once more and then pushes in.

Water streams over their bodies and their mouths collide as Cas thrusts into Dean, free hand gripping the back of Dean’s neck tightly. Dean’s nails are scraping along Cas’ back harshly enough that Cas will probably feel it for days, but he rests assured knowing that Cas loves that sort of thing. Dean’s never seen Cas wince in pain without smirking directly after if it has something to do with how Dean’s marked him up during sex. Their chests are pressed close and they’ve only got eyes for each other every time their mouths part.

By the time Cas comes, body shaking as he moans Dean’s name into his mouth, Dean’s full mast and aching again. Cas lets Dean’s leg drop and he slumps against him, but not without taking Dean’s dick in hand and pumping him toward yet another mind-blowing orgasm. He mouths lazily at Dean’s neck as he works, kissing rather than sucking, and chuckles happily when he feels Dean seize up beneath him and warm liquid decidedly different than shower water sliding through his fingers.

Dean and Cas stay in the shower until the hot water runs out and towel each other off, ruffling each other’s hair and making it stand on end. Cas has more hair than Dean and accordingly looks more ridiculous – and more adorable, if Dean’s being honest. The sight of Cas, pruny-fingered from so much shower time and smiling stupidly has Dean feeling stupidly fuzzy. He kisses Cas’ nose just because, and is surprised that he’s not at all embarrassed when Cas does the same.

They spend the rest of the evening alternately lounging around and pawing at each other, cuddling until cuddling becomes groping, then having sex, and back around again. They’re both feeling warm and a little silly in the afterglow of so much sex, and Dean finds himself grinning constantly, against Cas’ skin and into their every kiss, pleased that Cas is just as smiley. Early evening fades into night, and it’s been dark for several hours by the time Dean’s exhausted enough to call it a night with the more physically active aspect of their evening.

Cas is in bed with a book, blankets pulled up around him, clearly transfixed with whatever he’s reading. Dean’s on the edge of the bed leaning in toward the TV, watching the last of the Eagles game he prerecorded on Monday and forgot about. They’re doing terribly, as usual, and Dean starts wondering for the millionth time why he even roots for these talentless sons of bitches. The fact that he does it because it’s his local team and that he does it out of loyalty to his area dawns on him, and it’s a weird thought to digest. Someone fails to intercept the ball – again – and Dean’s distracted from his thoughts enough to shout at the TV. Cas chuckles fondly and Dean turns around and sticks his tongue out at him.

Cas’ phone vibrates announcing texts regularly, and the man looks equal parts fond and irritated at getting interrupted from his book every time. He sort of wrinkles his nose, just slightly, every time it buzzes, but smiles as he writes the response.

“Who are you talking to, Mr. Popular?” Dean asks with a smile, reaching for the remote and clicking off the TV, which is just plain disappointing at this point.

“Sarah,” Cas says. “She says she is bored – she used several r’s when she wrote that.” Cas makes a face, like he will never understand why Sarah or anyone else would choose to intentionally repeat letters in a text message.

“Seriously? Surely they have, like, newlywed shit to do. What are they up to?”

Cas taps away at his phone, which he’s gotten surprisingly good at using, right under Dean’s nose.

“She says that Sam is reading and she is watching football from Monday night. In her words, ‘Sam is no fun.’ She also says that she misses us and cannot wait to see us tomorrow.”

“Huh,” Dean says, smile playing at the edges of his lips. He finds it incredibly weird to know that his brother and his wife are just like Dean and Cas.  It’s not bad weird, though. “Tell her I feel her pain and can’t wait to complain about our no-fun partners together tomorrow.”

Cas frowns at that, but dutifully responds. Dean reaches past Cas and grabs the book lying bookmarked beside him. He gently places it on their nightstand and clicks off the light.

“Tell her goodnight, let’s go to sleep,” Dean says, burying his face in his pillow and tugging the blankets over himself. Cas huffs, but a moment later the light from his phone has gone out and he’s placing it on the nightstand and situating himself beside Dean under the covers. He wastes no time in spooning Dean, tugging him close and burying his face in the back of Dean’s neck. Dean laces two of their hands together and they lay like that, quiet for a while, teetering on the edge of sleep.

Dean’s eyes have been closed quite some time, nearly asleep, when he feels Cas bite sharply at the spot where his shoulder meets his neck, and then suck at the skin there.

“Jesus Christ, Cas, what are you, 17?” Dean half-groans, already totally on board with this despite having just been seconds away from sleep a moment ago. He shifts so that he’s facing Cas, whose eyes are wide, adjusting to the dark. Cas tilts his head slightly into the pillow, brow knit in confusion.

“Dean, you know that my age far exc – ”

“Yeah yeah, centuries old ex-angel, got it. It’s a figure of speech. It means your libido’s in overdrive, dude. We’ve been at it all day,” he says, but he can’t fight the smirk dancing its way across his lips.

“Once more,” Cas says, like a kid asking to go on a merry-go-round just _one_ more time. Like Dean would be at all disinclined to say yes.

“Hell yes,” Dean says, and he sighs deeply as their lips clash yet again.

Dean really, really likes what his life has become. 

*

Dean wakes the following morning to an empty bed and the oh-so-familiar smell of food cooking from the kitchen. He is at once dismayed at Cas’ absence and pleased by the prospect of being fed, and he lays staring at the ceiling for a moment, trying to will himself to get up. A quick glance at their bedside clock tells him that it’s almost noon; that knowledge and the combination of what sounds like music playing in the kitchen is what finally gets Dean up, tugging on a pair of sweaters before walking sleepily over to find Cas. As he gets closer, though, he realizes what the indistinct sounds are and he stops in his tracks at the entrance of the kitchen. Cas is facing away from Dean and hasn’t noticed him, so Dean gets a chance to revel in this little moment.

Cas is singing along to the radio. And it’s not some song that Dean has taught Cas or anything Cas would have chosen on his own, as far as Dean knows; it’s just some cheesy pop that’s been playing since the holidays rolled around. Cas’ low, quiet voice sounds at odds with the young guy singing.

“ _You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs. But I look around me and I see it isn't so,”_ Cas hums along under his breath. _“Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs.”_ Dean’s entire body _aches_ with the need to laugh, because this is friggin hilarious, completely out of character – but he can’t laugh, not even if he wanted to, because Cas looks so damn at peace with something like a smile twitching at the edges of his lips. He cracks an egg into a bowl and whisks it, looking out the kitchen window as he does so.

“ _And what's wrong with that? I'd like to know_ ,” he sings, and his voice lilts up with the singer’s, even though Cas’ voice really, really doesn’t do that. Cas definitely can’t sing; it sounds awkward at best and Dean’s overwhelmingly happy that he got to catch this little moment of Cas’, because he’s that much more in love with the guy for it. Dean tiptoes into the kitchen as quietly as he can, willing Cas’ back to stay turned away from him. Dean successfully reaches his boyfriend undetected and wraps his arms around his waist just in time to sing,

“ _I love you,_ ” in time with the dumb, overly catchy pop music. Cas goes still all over, muscles tense, mouth silent.

“You’re awake,” he finally comments, shoulders still stiff. Dean presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, and he seems to relax a bit, though he reaches for the stereo and turns the volume down low.

“Cas… what are you listening to?”

Cas sets the bowl of eggs on the counter and then shifts in Dean’s arms and hugs him tight, pressing their lips together in a slow kiss that ends in a smile.

“It… I don’t know, it just came on the radio,” Cas says awkwardly, and Dean can’t fight the huge, smug smirk on his face because Cas is an awful liar. He glances at the stereo, which tells the artist and song in scrolling marquee in bright capital letters. Dean’s jaw drops.

“This is – Cas, this is _Glee_. Cas. Did you realize that you are listening to a song from _Glee?_ ”

 Cas tries to look defiant despite how his face is turning red.

“It’s not my usual choice, as you well know. It just… suited my mood, this morning. I woke up very happy.” Dean’s eyebrows arch up, still skeptical because this is _Glee_ we’re talking about here. Cas notes this skepticism and sighs.

“It’s just a very good day to be in love, I think,” he says finally, shyly looking at Dean’s freckles instead of his eyes. Dean’s mouth opens just the slightest bit at that, and he chews the inside of his cheek, speechless. Neither of them are big on sentiment and “I love you”s. He opts for humor instead.

“Jeez, Cas, is this leftover afterglow from last night?” he asks playfully, and Cas cracks a smile, meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Perhaps,” he concedes with a quiet chuckle. He shrugs himself out of Dean’s hold so he can go back to whisking eggs, and Dean pours himself a cup of coffee and automatically sets their tea kettle to start boiling water for Cas’ tea. It’s a routine they’ve been following for months now, whenever they have enough time to make breakfast before work. Cas is usually the one cooking, but Dean will help how he can – setting the table, turning on water for tea, making toast, things like that. They work like a little unit in the kitchen with the sort of ease that would imply they’ve been doing this for years.

Cas adds the eggs to the frying pan and moves on to preparing other things while that cooks. He’s currently trimming cauliflower, and there’s something in the oven already that smells delicious, though Dean can’t make out what it is. He eyes a pile of potatoes on a counter, awaiting washing and peeling.

“Need help?” he asks, gesturing to the potatoes.

Cas tilts his head, looking from Dean to the potatoes in confusion as though the question has been asked in a foreign language. After a moment, he nods.

“Yes, thank you Dean. That would be well appreciated.”

Cas reaches in a drawer, probably going for a potato peeler or something, but Dean hops up on the counter and starts peeling with his pocket knife, snagged from amongst fake veggies in the cornucopia centerpiece on their kitchen table. Cas frowns at him, like he’s trying to figure out why he should protest their food being peeled with Dean’s knife, but ultimately he doesn’t seem to deign it worth mentioning. Dean figures the guy wouldn’t have had reason to, anyway; he always washes the monster innards off when he’s done with the knife.

They both become quietly absorbed in food preparation after that, though it’s not long until they’re interrupted by breakfast. Cas, as usual, has outdone himself with overflowing plates, and Dean thinks it’s a damn good thing that he works out because he’d be putting on weight fast living with Cas. They sit together, side by side, at their tiny kitchen table, shoulders bumping as they eat.

“So when are Sam and Sarah headed over?” Dean asks between bites of bacon and hash browns.

“Around 3,” Cas replies. Cas has, blessedly, never mentioned Dean’s awful table manners. He seems to be oblivious to them, which is probably a perk of being not-quite-human, which Dean is infinitely grateful. Cas himself never models Dean’s bad form with eating, though, which leads Dean to wonder if Cas knows it’s impolite and just doesn’t care. Either way, Dean counts himself lucky.

“Wait – why so early? And don’t we have work tonight?” Dean asks skeptically.

“They are coming early because we all have work in the morning, and Sam has class. I’ve already called and had our shifts switched. You and I work double tomorrow.”

Dean groans.

“Hate working double,” he mutters ruefully, but Cas cuts him off by gently grabbing his jaw.

“It will be worth it,” he says firmly. When Dean doesn’t look convinced, Cas adds, “I’ll ask Jayne to bring Lyric and eat at one of your tables tomorrow, our treat. Sound good?”

Dean brightens almost immediately, despite himself.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

They go back to food prepping once they’ve finished eating and have cleared away their plates. They work in affable silence, the sound of soft classic rock playing on the radio doing the talking for them. Cas sets something boiling on the stove that Dean’s only half aware of; he’s mostly lost in his own thoughts, carving potatoes on autopilot. Once they’re peeled, Cas gently takes the knife from Dean’s hands and places it on the counter.

“Go get a shower and get dressed,” Cas tells him. “I’ll finish here.”

“Join me?” Dean asks hopefully, but Cas just kisses his lips and shakes his head.

“I have to finish up here. I can’t do with your… distractions, right now. I’ll burn the food.”

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes as he gets up and heads out of the kitchen.

“If you hear me moaning, it’s because I’m thinking of you,” Dean adds coyly with a wink as he’s leaving. He doesn’t wait for Cas’ reaction, but he thinks he hears Cas respond with a satisfying little yelp. He smirks to himself as he heads to the bathroom, picturing Cas alone in the kitchen, flustered and cursing his cooking for keeping him away from Dean.

*

Dean wears a white button-up shirt and a pair of khakis for the occasion, because Cas says that Sarah requested they all dress “verging on formal but not really.” Cas, on his part, has ignored this entirely and is wearing a maroon sweater that says “GIVE THANKS” and features a turkey with extremely bright, eyesore feathers in an array of autumn colors.  It’s one of Cas’ more hideous sweaters, and Dean kind of wants to light it on fire and be thankful for the blaze that torches it out of existence. He loves Cas more than he hates the sweater, though, and within an hour it’s no longer irritating or even noticeable.

The house is warm and cozy from the combined heat of the oven and their cheesy fireplace from last year, which has officially been brought out for the rest of the winter. Dean draws faces in the condensation on the window every time he goes to check if Sam and Sarah have arrived, which is more often than Dean would care to admit. He can’t help himself; it’s been almost a month since he’s seen his brother and he misses him. He’s felt a weird sort of underlying anxiety whenever he thinks about Sam ever since the wedding that he’s desperately hoping will be at ease after tonight. Dean’s used to big fallouts and betrayals and drama, but marriage is a whole new ball game. The idea of Sam slowly slipping away from him because of it chills Dean to his core, though he knows that the fear is unfounded. Sarah’s the best catch Sam could have ever landed, and Dean couldn’t have chosen better if he’d hand-picked her himself. He knows she’s no threat to his relationship with Sam, but he worries nonetheless.

He sinks into the couch and closes his eyes, willing himself to relax and force his tense shoulders to go limp. He isn’t aware that Cas is nearby until the couch dips beside him and Cas settles in next to his side.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Cas asks quietly. Dean sighs.

“Nah,” he says offhandedly, and he’s saved from further conversation by the sound of Sarah’s telltale rhythmic knock at their door. Cas gestures for Dean to open the door and when he does so, he _instantly_ feels that much better. Sarah’s grinning at him, pink-nosed and red-cheeked, swaddled up in a big burgundy scarf and matching hat. She gives him a big hug as soon as the door is open and he thinks he’s been being an idiot. Sam is beside her, bundled up with a hat and scarf of the same set but in green. He’s carrying a box of tissues close to his chest like they're his only lifeline.

“If it isn’t my two favorite newlyweds,” Dean says with a grin he can’t fight, beckoning them in.

“Hey, Dea –” Sam cuts himself off with a huge sneeze that is directly proportional to his colossal size that visibly startles Cas and makes Sarah laugh. He groans at the end of it, slumping into the couch as he shucks his hat and scarf and balls them up, burying his face in them.

“I take it Sasquatch is sick?” Dean asks Sarah with raised eyebrows. Sarah rolls her eyes dramatically.

“He has a _cold_. He’s fine.”

“I’m going to die,” Sam mutters snuffily from behind his scarf.

“Maybe from a lethal dose of melodrama,” she deadpans, but her tone and expression are  clearly fond.

Cas collects Sarah’s coat, hat and scarf from her and she gives him a hug in the process, which he stiffly reciprocates, as always. Dean has watched so many of Cas’ weird otherworldly habits dissolve into humanity over the past year, but it’s always comforting to see little moments like this that remind him that Cas was once an angel. Cas might understand Star Wars references now and be able to catch up on the nonverbal nuances of a conversation, but he will probably always be stiff and awkward whenever he hugs anyone but Dean. For whatever reason, Dean’s proud of that knowledge.

Once greetings have been exchanged and outer layers have been shed and stored away in the coat closet, Cas wanders off to the kitchen to make tea for Sam. Dean’s not sure what he was so worried about, because it’s _Sarah_ who gets the conversation going with an anecdote about something that had happened at an art show that week. The story transitions into conversation easily, no stress or thought about it, and Dean finally feels himself relax.

Cas returns with tea for Sam and snuggles in beside Dean, silently participating in the conversation like he always done, clearly involved just by how attentive he is. Sam’s in the middle of a (very common, judging by the look on Sarah’s face) tyrade about one of his professors when Cas frowns and looks around, brow knit in confusion.

“… Uh, Castiel?” Sam asks, distracted by Cas’ distraction.

“Where is the turkey?” Cas asks, and the look of realization on Sarah’s face has Dean thinking they must have forgotten it at home. Thankfully, it’s the wrong conclusion.

“It’s in the back! I completely forgot about it, we have it so covered… We wanted it to stay warm, so it’s in the back seat. We wrapped the roasting pan in foil, inside heated towels, inside a box, which we wrapped in a blanket. I completely forgot about it.”

Dean’s gotta admit, he’s impressed by the foresight. He would have just stuck it in the oven when he arrived… but he figures there’s some sort of unwritten cooking laws or something that prohibit that. Dean’s not the expert here.

“Me and Cas will bring it in – not you, Sam.” Sam, who was just starting to stand up, reluctantly sits back down, looking skeptical. “You’re sick. I don’t want your germs all over my dinner.”

Dean and Cas bring the turkey – which is significantly larger than is necessary for just the four of them – into the house and into the kitchen, where Cas sets it up on a serving dish. He and Dean go through the process of carrying various dishes to the small room connected to the kitchen that can only loosely be described as a dining room. Dean carries in plates and utensils; Cas brings in cups and napkins. The table is quickly set between the two of them, and Dean doesn’t hesitate a second once the last thing’s been placed on the table to loudly summon in his brother and sister-in-law.

“This is quite a spread,” Sarah comments with a grin, eyebrows high in surprise and delight. Sam also seems taken aback by how much food Dean and Cas (well, mostly Cas) have managed to churn out. Dean’s almost offended by their incredulity, for Cas’ sake. It’s not like Cas doesn’t always deliver when it comes to food.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Cas,” Sam says between sniffles, and Cas smiles softly, a little ball of pride and contentment. Dean leans in close and ruffles his boyfriend’s hair affectionately, pleased with the happy light in Cas’ eyes.

Everyone takes their places around the table, with Cas almost uncomfortably close to Dean, as usual.

“I’ll carve the turkey,” Dean announces, just as Sam starts to say something. Sam’s ensuing face is some combination of a pout and a bitch face, which makes Dean grin even though he’s not entirely sure what it’s for.

“I wanted to carve the turkey, Dean,” he says petulantly, throat raspy from his cold.

“No way, little brother. You’ll probably sneeze all over it,” Dean replies, dismissively, but Sam snags the carving knife before Dean has a chance to.

“Dean, we made the turkey! I should get to cut it,” Sam says, lower lip puckering.

“Actually,” Sarah interjects, slipping the knife from Sam’s hand, “ _I_ made the turkey, so I’ll be the one carving it, thank you very much.”

Neither Sam nor Dean can come up with an acceptable rebuttal to this argument, so they both slump back in their seats, Sam sniffling sullenly and Dean grumbling under his breath. Sarah pointedly serves Cas first, winking at him as she does. Cas tilts his head, clearly confused by the gesture, and Dean can’t help but laugh and roll his eyes.

Once everyone’s heaped up their plates with servings of food, Dean holds his breath because he knows, logically, what comes next – the typical TV family prayer over dinner. He’s dreading it like it’s poison waiting to be drizzled over his meal, wonders how screwed up it would be if he protested. He knows that they’re going for the typical family holiday and that this is a section of their life that’s supposed to be normal… but the idea of giving thanks to some unknowable douchebag probably-nonexistent deity makes him sick to his stomach.

But the moment… never comes. Sarah digs into her food and, after an unsure moment, so do Sam and Cas. Dean looks around the table at everyone eating, stunned that the ritual of giving thanks on Thanksgiving seems to have been unanimously skipped. He smiles to himself before finally tucking in as well, enjoying every bite all the more in lieu of a mandatory declaration of thanks for it.

There’s a Giants vs. Eagles game on after they eat – ironically, the teams of Philadelphia and New York and either couple’s team, accordingly. Sarah and Dean are as into the game as can be as soon as it comes on, but Sam’s attention is divided with the law book he’s brought to study for a test tomorrow. Cas is helping him study, quizzing him in that monotone, expressionless way of his, and Dean can’t get over how nerdy the two of them are, doing schoolwork while the game’s on.

Still, despite their split attentions, there’s a sense of unity to the room that Dean hadn’t realized he missed until now. Even after all this time, things still feel most right when he’s with his brother; Dean figures that’s something that will never change. He’s been trained since he was old enough to understand orders that things were only okay if Sam was within his line of vision. It’s not exactly something that’s easily unlearned. But that feeling of rightness has expanded to include Cas and even Sarah, too, now. Dean figures that’s something, at least.

Around the end of third quarter, Sam and Cas call it quits with their studying and crowd onto the couch with Dean and Sarah. The couch is just big enough that no one’s unintentionally in anyone’s personal space, though Cas is nestled in tight beside Dean of his own accord and Sam has him arm draped around Sarah, pulling her close. Dean, Sarah and Sam spend the remainder of the game shouting at their teams when they screw up and cheering wildly when they score. Cas watches them all fondly, but otherwise seems completely unconcerned with the outcome of the game. He does have the decency to high five Dean when the other man falls out of his seat shouting excitedly when the Eagles win by the thinnest margin possible.

All too soon it seems, the evening has run on long past Sam and Sarah’s initial intended time of departure. Dean offers to have them spend the night a few more times than is technically necessary, but he aches to see them go. They all have responsibilities, though, hours and miles apart. Dean has to concede to settling for extra-long, tight hugs for both his brother and sister-in-law before they go, bundled up and saddled down leftovers.

Dean stands at the doorway watching them drive off and stays there even after they’ve turned the corner, staring absently into the night. He jumps when he feels Cas’ hand on the small of his back.

“You’re letting in the cold, Dean,” he says quietly, tiny smile quirking at one edge of his mouth.

“Yeah – sorry,” Dean says, letting Cas guide him in and closing the door behind him. Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and pulls him tight, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lips.

“I’m glad they came,” Cas comments, and for some reason this sentiment puts it all into perspective. He misses his brother and Sarah already, yeah, but… that’s not the point. The point is the time they’ve had together. He realizes it’s a quality over quantity situation in this case, and that maybe now’s the time to start getting over his little brother issues.

Dean’s grateful for tonight and grateful for the angel that, yet again, organized them all so that it would happen.

“Me too,” he says with a smile, cupping Cas’ face as he kisses him again.

*

The week between their makeshift Thanksgiving and the real, national holiday passes quickly and uneventfully. The temperature hovers consistently at the freezing mark, just cold enough that the weather forecasters caution the possibility of snow every day. On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving it still hasn’t snowed, though the looming grey skies have Cas convinced it’s a matter of moments until it happens. He coerces Dean outside with him to wait for the snow to fall, and they end up walking around their neighborhood hand-in-hand, bundled up in hats, scarves and gloves. They don’t speak, just quietly enjoy each other’s company as the sun sets slowly behind the thick clouds.

The silence is shattered by the sound of Dean’s ringtone. He nearly ignores it in favor of honoring the tranquility, but curiosity has him checking the caller ID. When it turns out to be Jayne who’s calling, he changes his mind and answers instantly. Cas instinctively moves closer so that he can hear, too. It’s a habit he picked up automatically a long time ago because Dean hates repeating himself.

“Hey, Jayne,” Dean says with an easy smile that’s evident in his voice.

“Hey Dean,” Jayne replies with a heavy sigh that has Dean worried.

“Something wrong?” Dean asks, and Cas frowns, chewing his chapped bottom lip.

“Uh – well, I’m just calling to ask a lost minute favor of you guys… again.” It kills Dean that Jayne still always sounds so apologetic when she asks things of them. They’re all she’s got, and have long since become family in Dean’s eyes. He wishes she wouldn’t sound like it’s killing her every time she needs some help.

“Jayne. Anything, you know that,” Dean replies firmly, speaking for both himself and Cas because he knows they’re both on the same page, always, when it comes to Lyric and Jayne.

Jayne heaves another sigh, but this one sounds more relieved than anything else.

“You guys are lifesavers,” she says, “Do you think you could come pick Lyric up? It’d only be for… well, I don’t actually know how long.”

“Of course,” Dean says, and he and Cas both automatically turn and head back for the house. “Is something wrong?”

“No, everything’s fine,” she says with feigned lightheartedness that drops halfway through. “Well… it’s nothing I can’t figure out.”

“What happened?” Dean persists.

“The movers were supposed to move everything in today. Well, I thought they were, anyway...We got a late start because I was held up at work. They packed everything from the old place up smoothly enough, but when we got to the house they said they were behind schedule because I was late and pretty much just unloaded everything on the front lawn.  It’d be much easier for me to move everything if Lyric wasn’t asking me things every three minutes.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at the phone, though Jayne obviously can’t see it.

“Uh, and how exactly are you going to move all that stuff yourself? It’s already starting to get dark.” he asks skeptically, and Cas furrows his brow, upping their pace just the slightest bit. Jayne is silent for a moment.

“I… don’t know,” she admits finally. Dean rolls his eyes.

“We’re on our way,” he says, and he hears Jayne’s sharp intake of breath, though he’s sure she probably tried to stifle it.

“You’d do that?” she asks, clearly completely incredulous by the tone of her voice.

“Um, duh. You’re family, dude. It’s no problem at all.”

“Thank you so much,” she says, relief flooding through her voice. Dean smiles, and Cas’ pensive look relaxes a bit.

“Like I said, no problem. We’ll be over in 15 minutes.”

Dean hangs up the phone and Cas squeezes his hand, and Dean looks up to find Cas smiling.

“You’re a good man, Dean,” he tells him, and Dean has no idea what to do with that, so he just stops them for a moment and gives Cas a gentle kiss, one hand cradling his face.

“Let’s get going,” Dean says, lightheartedly evading the comment.

Cas just sighs contentedly and nods, and they walk the short distance home. They make sure to flip off their stuck-up Republican neighbor’s house on the way.

*

They bring in the table first so that Lyric has a place to color with Cas, who sits by her side and draws with her. At first he’s a little put off by Dean’s suggestion that he sit out while Dean and Jayne move things in, but Dean points out that only Jayne knows where things go and Lyric needs someone to keep her occupied. When Lyric’s eyes light up and she begs him to color with him, he relents. Once they’ve started coloring, he finally stops pouting at Dean.

It doesn’t take long until everything’s inside and in its respective places. Dean ogles at the house as they go, indescribably proud of Jayne for saving up for such a nice house. Lyric’s room is much larger than it was before, and there’s a big tree in the back that’s perfect for her tree house. Dean and Cas make plans to come over that weekend and start construction. They all sit around the kitchen table drinking tea and relaxing after an evening of hard work. Lyric has fallen asleep with her head on the table, mouth hanging open slightly.

“So what are you guys doing for Thanksgiving tomorrow?” Dean finds himself asking, and is not surprised by the evasive way Jayne looks away and chews her lip.

“It’s just me and Lyric,” she says with a shrug after a moment. Dean and Cas exchange looks and then Cas nods almost imperceptibly. Dean gets the message.

“We’d love to spend it with you, if you’d have us. We were gonna spend it by ourselves, too, anyway.”

Jayne brightens visibly, eyes widening. She runs a hand through her hair and grins.

“I’d love that! Although – I don’t know how to cook very well. We were just going to get a Boston Market dinner or something.”

This time, it’s Cas’ turn for his eyes to light up.

“Excellent. Leave the turkey to me,” he says eagerly, and Dean laughs and ruffles Cas’ hair affectionately.

“I’ll take care of the easy stuff if you guys get the turkey,” she says, clearly delighted by how cheesy wide her grin is and the way her shoulders have gone easy and relaxed.

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean says happily.

By then it’s gotten relatively late, and Dean and Cas excuse themselves to go home. Dean drives home with one hand laced with Cas’, feeling warm and comfortable and completely at peace. He revels in the soft, warm flex of Cas’ fingers and hopes that his angel feels the same.

*

“You’re going to burn the house down, Cas.”

Deep fried turkeys are bad news, period. Dean’s heard countless horror stories of bad fires caused by the insane practice of boiling a holiday bird in oil, and Dean doesn’t care _how_ careful Cas says he’ll be or how good it’ll taste; he hates this idea. Cas has been insisting and insisting all day, went as far as to get all the necessary preparations for it despite Dean’s pouting over it, and Dean’s resolve eventually slipped. Now, though, with the turkey, peanut oil and huge pot in tow in the backseat on the way to Lyric and Jayne’s place, Dean’s having second thoughts.

“It will be fine, Dean. Stop worrying. We’re going to cook it in the backyard, far from the house.”

“It’s not too late to pick one up at the store,” Dean protests, but Cas’ strikingly petulant look catches him off guard.

 _“Trust me, Dean._ Please,” he implores, and Dean decides to shut up about it. Over the years, Cas has given him countless reasons to trust him. Dean’s doubt must be kind of insulting, at this point.

“Whatever,” he grumbles noncommittally as they pull up to the house. The roar of the Impala must have been heard from the house, because the door swings open and Lyric races out, brunette braided pigtails dancing. She’s wearing a plaid onesie in Christmas tones of red and green, though someone seems to have taken a pair of scissors to the feet of the outfit because she’s pattering out barefoot. The previous day, they’d all decided to do Thanksgiving in their pajamas in contrast to the formal Thanksgiving they’d had with Sam and Sarah. Dean hadn’t prepared himself for how cute Lyric would look, though.

“Dean! Cass-y-ell!” she squeals excited, hopping from one foot to the other as they exit the car. Dean and Cas have matching Thanksgiving lounge pants on, with brown cartoon turkeys all over on green fleece. While Dean paired his with an old worn out Metallica shirt, Cas couldn’t resist another dumb sweater. It is decorated inexplicably with cornucopias everywhere, spilling vegetables. It’s one of Cas’ weirder sweaters, but Dean’s long since stopped being fazed by the hideous things.

“Hello, Lyric,” Cas says as he closes the door behind him, and gives her a big hug, which surprises Dean. Usually Cas’ unsolicited hugs are reserved for Dean, but Dean finds that he doesn’t mind in this instance.

Dean’s surprised by how cold the house is, and wonders if it was the same way yesterday and he was too busy hauling stuff in to notice. He glances at the thermostat on his way in and finds that it’s supposedly blasting away at a powerful 85 degrees Fahrenheit, but there’s no way that’s correct. He makes a mental note to ask Jayne about it.

The house smells wonderful, and a visit to the kitchen shows that Jayne has outdone herself with all the side dishes. She’s wearing green, worn out pajama pants and an oversized grey t-shirt of some Broadway show Dean can’t pronounce. Her dark hair is braided to match her daughter’s, and humming to herself in the kitchen, she looks happier than she ever has. It’s startling how much different she looks when nothing’s troubling her. She smiles wide when she sees them.

“You guys match,” she notes happily. “Adorable.” Dean blushes hard and looks away, but Cas of course doesn’t get how cheesy it is and simply thanks her.

They get to work setting up the turkey to cook outside. Blessedly, it only takes under an hour, which is about a third of the time a typical turkey would take. While they wait, they all gather around the TV and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, which Jayne had the foresight to DVR that morning. Cas and Lyric are transfixed by the elaborate floats that cruise down the road, and the swarms of people that gathered to see it.

“Can we go next year?” Lyric whispers to Cas, and Cas smiles and nods, tugging her close. Jayne and Dean exchange looks of matching affection for the two loves of their lives, snuggled in close together. It’s crazy to think that just months ago, neither Lyric nor Jayne were in his life, and less than a year ago he and Cas had never kissed. The way time has changed so much scares Dean – but in a good way. It feels like a challenge he’s ready to rise to, whatever it may be.

When the turkey is done, they vote by a majority of three to one (Cas being the only dissenter) to eat dinner around the TV instead of at the table. Dean likes how homey it feels and how close everyone is, likes that Lyric bounces around from one person’s lap to the next. He’s just about to start eating when Lyric mutes the TV.

“We gotta _pray first,_ ” she insists. The three adults all exchange looks.

“Lyric, sweetie, some grownups don’t pray before holiday dinners, and that’s okay –” Jayne starts, but Dean interrupts.

“It’s fine, I’m cool with it,” he says, surprised even as the words leave his mouth.

He’s equally surprised to hear Cas say, “As am I.”

“Okay, we all gotta say what we’re thankful for,” she tells them seriously, and then she closes her eyes, squeezing them shut much tighter than is really necessary. “Mama, you go first.”

“Oh – um. I’m thankful for my beautiful daughter,” she says, which causes Lyric to giggle. “And for Dean and Castiel, who have made our lives so much better.”

“Cass-y-ell, your turn,” Lyric whispers loudly.

“I am grateful that I fell – for Dean,” he quickly adds, obviously realizing how odd the sentence would sound to the two of them. “I am thankful for my family, and that it now includes Jayne and Lyric. It is much larger and warmer than I ever could have imagined.”

“Dean, you next,” Lyric instructs in her same loud whisper.

“Uh. What they said,” Dean says awkwardly, because even if this isn’t exactly prayer, it’s still not his style and he has no idea what to do with this.

Dean expects Lyric to protest at his admittedly lame addition to their prayer, but blessedly she chooses to accept it and move on.

“Thank you God for my Mama and for my new house and especially for my new daddies Dean and Cass-y-ell because they’re really nice and they make real good mac and cheese. I’m happy ‘cause you knew Mommy was really lonely and you sent her some friends. I’m real thankful I have a big family now. Thank you. Amen!”

Everyone opens their eyes and there’s a stunned silence for a moment as everyone stares at Lyric, who has so artlessly summarized their lives in the way only a child could. Dean’s surprised to find his aren’t the only set of eyes that have watered up just the tiniest bit at this little girl’s prayer. He scoops her tiny frame up into a big hug and presses a soft kiss to her cheek, holding her tight.

“I love you, kiddo,” he tells her, and it strikes him that he can count on one hand the amount of people he’s ever said those three words to, and she’s one of them. Somehow or another, these two former strangers have wormed their way into his heart and set up permanent residence there.

With his little girl nestled in his arms, happy and secure, he finds that he’s totally and completely okay with that.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'M SORRY IF SHOWER WATER DOESN'T COUNT AS LUBE OKAY I DIDN'T FEEL LIKE LOOKING IT UP


End file.
